


Pointers

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Draconian Dignitary takes a special interest in his latest prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pointers

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to [ketsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketsu) for betaing this <33

The Dignitary offers you the only chair in his office, which you don't take, and a cigarette, which you allow him to light. You give him a few moments after lighting his own, and just when you're about to ask again why he brought you here, he speaks. "You have quite the knack for shaving, do you not, Mister..."

"Crocker. And- yes. It's one of my hobbies." Small-talk, then. You can do that easily, especially about a subject you enjoy so much. But you'll have to take care to not get too comfortable. Not in this situation.

"Knew it." He casually picks up the tray on his desk as he taps some ash into it and slides a newspaper out from underneath. You watch as he folds it, somewhat quickly but perfectly neat. You miss newspapers. You miss a lot of things, but you think newspapers are definitely in the top five. You'll have to ask him for a copy.

"First thing I thought when I saw you," he continues, slipping the paper inside his jacket. "'Now that man, he knows his way around a straight edge.' Never seen such a smooth face in my life, and you don't even have a carapace."

"Why, thank you," you say cautiously.

"I was wondering if you'd care to dispense a little wisdom on the subject." He places his cigarette back in his mouth, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Wisdom?" You could talk about shaving all day, and have on more than one occasion. However - you peer at his face, trying to be discreet. You've seen quite a lot of these strange creatures (aliens?) since you got here, and none of them had any hair you could see.

"Yeah, you know. Tips. Advice. Sharp man like you's gotta have a few pointers." He pauses for a second. "Dammit. Forgive my puns, they tend to sneak up on me."

"You want me to teach you to shave?"

"If you were so inclined." He shrugs, and somehow it's casual and sophisticated at the same time. "It's not like I don't know how, but there's always room for improvement, right?"

You can't argue with that. However. "Forgive me if this is out of line," you begin slowly, "but you don't seem to have any hair."

You think he's raising an eyebrow at you, or what passes for an eyebrow with his species, but maybe not. "That won't be a problem. I'm content to watch a master at work."

"Why-" you almost start, but catch it in time. You choose your next words carefully. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you'd even need to shave for. Or how you'd go about it." You wonder if it's not so wise to be asking unnecessary questions. The last thing you want to do is offend the man in charge here. 

But he waves a hand dismissively. "Every gent worth his salt can shave." He sits back in his chair, and you feel slightly less intimidated. "Listen, maybe I can do you a favor in return? That grungy old cell ain't no place for a man like you. I got a nice little room up on the top floor, for the Very Important Prisoners."

"So, I am to assume that I'm still your prisoner?" Perhaps if you cooperated, he might let you go?

He sighs. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Nothing personal, you know? I'd let you out if I could." If he's lying, he's doing a good job of it. It couldn't hurt to try and win him over either way, could it?

"Nice big washroom," he continues. "Well-lit, wide mirror. Perfect place to work your magic." And it does sound like a significant improvement over your current arrangement. But there's something you want more.

"I'd really like to speak to my daughter."

He shakes his head. "Sorry, but I can't let you contact any of the nobles. Queen's orders."

"Nobles?"

"The kids. Yours included." He is quiet for a moment. "I wouldn't worry about her, if that's the thing. She's off-limits. Again, queen's orders." You hope he's telling the truth. Jane is a strong young woman, but even you couldn't fight off your assailants, and you'd hate for her to be their target.

"I'd still like to make sure she's okay." The queen's underlings might ignore her, but there was no telling what kind of crooks lurked around this place; not to mention the possibility of the usual band of assassins that never let her have a moment's peace.

He studies you for a second, then glances over at the sliced-up machinery in the other half of the room. "Alright. I might be able to help you out a little. You can't talk to her, but you can see her."

"She's here?!" Your voice climbs before you can stop it, and it takes a moment to even begin to wrestle down the panic. You have to remain levelheaded, reasonable. You definitely can't make a wrong move now, even that little outburst might cost you-

But the Dignitary seems unfazed. "No, no. Not at all." His voice stays steady. The words take the edge off your alarm, and you're not sure it's entirely because of their meaning. "It won't be in person. But I have my ways. I got a man running an errand. When he gets back, then you can see your girl." 

You're don't like the idea of him having "ways", but as long as none of his lackeys go anywhere near Jane, you think it should be fine. You can always call it off later if you must.

You nod. The Dignitary smiles - or maybe it's just your imagination. "That's what I like to hear. And in the meantime, if there's anything else I can do..." He definitely raises his not-eyebrows at you. "Change of clothes, maybe. Those look a little grungy. A man of your class can't go around looking like that, now can he?"

You don't even know how his hands got on your tie. He's that slick.

"My apologies for the way those hooligans manhandled you," he says as he slowly loosens the knot. "No sense of decency. There's no excuse for it. I've already had them executed." You swallow when his odd, shell-covered hands brush your throat.

He pulls the tie off your neck completely and flicks it around his own. "Nice little number you got here. Might have to get me one." He turns toward one of corridors leading out of the room, motioning for you to follow him. "I can tell you got a good head for fashion. Why don't you come pick something out while I have these washed?"

You have just settled into step beside him when something occurs to you: "You don't have any shaving equipment, do you?"


End file.
